


Requital

by wedjateye



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 17:56:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wedjateye/pseuds/wedjateye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pissing Aya off is never a smart move. Fluff. Repost of old fic (2007) from Livejournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Requital

Ken skids out the door to his room and jogs along the hallway, before coming to a dead halt at the top of the stairs. Goddamnit. They _must_ be doing this on purpose. Silhouetted in the archway at the bottom of the staircase, Aya and Yohji are engaged in some serious spit-swapping.

Ken tries not to groan as he remembers, yet again, that pissing Aya off is truly a stupid thing to do. It had seemed such a simple plan: comment on the loudness of Yohji’s nocturnal cries of passion, making sure Aya just happened to be within earshot, and Yohji would  never score sex at home again.

Embarrassment was supposed to nip whatever Aya and Yohji had started firmly in the bud. Ken could then go back to sleeping peacefully, rather than furtively jerking off whilst _not_ thinking of anyone in particular, doing anything at all specific.

Should have just learned to sleep with earplugs because now the bastards seem hell-bent on providing Ken with lots of visuals to accompany the soundtrack.

Maybe if he inches down the steps very quietly, he can push past them before they even realise he’s there. He tentatively slides down a couple of treads.

“Mmmm, Aya,” Yohji moans indistinctly. Ken squints. It looks like Aya’s tongue is drilling into Yohji’s head via his ear. _Gross_.

Maybe the fire-escape is a better option. The ground must have been wet the last time he dropped from it. Ken’s ankles don’t normally twist so badly. Really. The disappointed young faces of his waiting soccer team immediately swim into Ken’s mind, closely followed by an image of Omi frowning in annoyance. They’ve already accepted the mission for tomorrow night; Ken has to be fit. He grits his teeth and feels his way carefully down a few more stairs, bringing him within touching distance of Aya and Yohji.

Yohji is sprawled against the wall, head thrown back, eyes closed, a constant stream of encouraging noises rumbling in his throat. Aya is kissing Yohji the way he does everything – with intense purpose. His hands are braced to either side of Yohji’s head; his entire body focused into this one action.

Ken swallows. No wonder he wasn’t at first sure who it was Yohji was fucking in his room at night. Aya hasn’t surfaced the entire time Ken has been staring, yet Ken can’t even hear him breathing.

Ken jumps as Yohji lifts one impossibly long leg and wraps it around Aya’s back, using it to pull their bodies into full contact. The movement breaks the seal of their kiss and Yohji pants Aya’s name raggedly, as Aya smoothly transfers his mouth to Yohji’s neck.

Ken wipes his lips dry and forcibly tears his eyes away from the sight of Yohji’s lust-darkened face and glistening mouth. Where was he? Right. Soccer practice. Can’t keep the kids waiting. And look – now that Aya and Yohji are plastered together, there’s a gap that Ken can squeeze through. They’ll never even have to know he was here.

Ken flattens himself into the wall and moves as quietly as he can to slip past. He tries to blank his mind. To not notice the way Aya’s ass looks in jeans that surely didn’t cling like that in the shop earlier? Maybe it’s just the way he’s circling his hips – tight, even little movements that must be rubbing –

Ken squeaks as he literally leaps onto his tip-toes.

One fucking second of lost focus and Yohji decides to brace himself against the wall, his foot landing in the worst possible spot. Ken sucks in his stomach and tries to pull his balls as tightly in to his body as he can. Yohji’s foot squirms, as if trying to find good purchase, all the while brushing against the groin of Ken’s shorts.

This is ridiculous. Aya is hotter than hell and Yohji must be distracted but how can he not notice his foot is pressed right against…

Ken bellows, “Yohji! Get your foot out of my crotch before your boyfriend decides to gut me!”

Yohji’s snort sounds suspiciously like a laugh and his foot doesn’t move at all as Aya pivots in his arms to regard Ken.

Ken grins uneasily as he tries to reassure himself. Yohji’s leg may still be trapping Ken but at least it is also blocking Aya’s route to his katana.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Yohji says with amusement.

Ken feels his smile freeze as he shrinks even further into the wall. Aya is never discriminating when it comes to assigning blame and he doesn’t actually _need_ his katana to be deadly.

“Mmmm,” Aya says agreeably. Ken’s mouth drops open. So does Aya’s, but that’s probably because Yohji’s hands are roaming under his t-shirt, one of them presumably latched onto a nipple, judging from the rhythmic twisting of the fabric. Aya’s head lolls back onto Yohji’s shoulder as he elaborates dreamily: “He’s right, we’re not boyfriends.”

“Uh, sure, “ Ken manages, mesmerised by the lazy smile spreading across Yohji’s face as he licks a forefinger then hikes Aya’s t-shirt up enough to bare rippling abdominal muscles.

“That would imply – ” Aya’s breath catches as Yohji plunges the thoroughly slicked finger into his navel. Aya closes his eyes then drags his eyelids up to find Ken’s face again. “That would imply, ohhh, an exclusive relationship.”

“Where would the fun be in that, hmmm?” Yohji hums into Aya’s ear.

“Ex - xactly,” Aya moans.

“In fact, Ken, we’ve been thinking about spicing things up,” Yohji adds, turning the full force of his seductive gaze onto Ken, as Aya reaches a hand back to caress his face. “I was wondering – ” Yohji breaks off to suck Aya’s thumb into his mouth, sliding his lips slowly along its length, before drawing back and allowing it to pop wetly free.

“You were wondering?” Ken asks dazedly.

“Hmmm?” Yohji is still contemplating Aya’s thumb, his tongue teasing along the edges of his lips.

“Yohji has been wondering just how many people might fit into his bed,” Aya answers, twisting his head back to catch Yohji’s mouth in a brief, wet kiss.

“Bed?” Ken gapes.

“It’s an awfully big bed,” Yohji says with satisfaction, nuzzling into the side of Aya’s neck.

The hallway is really very narrow. Mustn’t be enough air with them all packed in so tightly. No wonder Ken’s so dizzy.

“Too big for three to fill it, really,” Aya says thoughtfully, arching his back and starting again with the hypnotic pelvis action.

“We should test your theory,” Yohji purrs.

“Not now though,” Aya says decisively.

“No?” Ken squeaks.

“Omi’s at a friend’s doing homework,” Aya explains.

Ken shakes himself. “Omi?”

“Is not here,” Aya says impatiently. Both Yohji and Aya have stilled and are staring at Ken as if he’s lost it.

“I don’t…” Ken looks from one to other, mystified.

“We can’t get four into the bed if Omi isn’t here to invite.” Aya enunciates each syllable slowly and clearly.

The hair on the back of Ken’s neck stands up.

“Come on, Ken, don’t tell me you don’t go for those cute little Omi-socks. You’re a soccer player after all. Socks must do it for you,” Yohji cajoles.

Aya’s stomach muscles flinch and Yohji immediately pulls him back against his body, standing up and wrapping his arms more tightly around Aya’s waist. “Sorry baby, didn’t mean to tickle you.”

Ken is suddenly aware of the warmth where Yohji’s foot had been nestling against his groin. He’d forgotten it was there. Had forgotten to feel embarrassed about the fact that his dick was achingly hard for more of that touch.

He’s forgotten a lot of things, it seems.

“Shit. Soccer practice. Thanks but no. Really. I have to go.” Ken leaps down the remaining stairs, feeling immense relief that neither Aya nor Yohji make any move to stop him.

“Later then?” Aya’s deep voice sends a shudder through Ken and stops him in his tracks.

“That’s good of you. Really. I’m, err, just… not into socks though.” Ken bolts. He hopes his face stops burning sometime before he reaches the field.

“Ouch!”

Yohji drops onto a step and wipes the grin off his face before Aya decides to put serious intent behind his next punch to Yohji’s gut.

“Come on, that was priceless!”

“Omi-socks?” Aya asks incredulously. “Just how perverted _are_ you?”

“Don’t you _dare_ go all pot-and-kettle on me. You were the one who brought Omi into the equation!” Yohji answers righteously. “The plan was to turn Ken off sex for life, not me.”

“As if that would ever be possible,” Aya sniffs.

“You’d better believe it, baby,” Yohji responds, tilting his head back to smile up at Aya.

“Don’t call me that,” Aya answers automatically.

“Why not? That’s what booooyfriends call each other,” Yohji laughs.

“Sock-fetishists are too twisted to find boyfriends.”

“Awww. Guess I can take consolation in fucking on the stairs with whatever gorgeous, random stranger I just happen to find here then.”

Aya wrinkles his nose dubiously. “Looks pretty uncomfortable.”

“I’ll bottom,” Yohji bargains.

“That was already a given,” Aya snorts, crossing his arms. “Besides, there’s a three hour Discovery Channel special on plankton that’s about to start. I’m not sure I’m actually available. You might have to call Manx and her socks instead.”

Yohji cocks his head thoughtfully, then bounds to his feet.

“One small problem with that plan.”

“There is?” Aya asks diffidently, turning his head away slightly as Yohji breathes warm air against his face.

“Oh yes. My true fetish is so fucked-up, I don’t think anyone but you will ever be able to do anything about it.”

“Really?” Aya says, voice heavy with scepticism as he sways so that Yohji’s lips brush against his cheekbone.

“You’re my fetish, Aya.” Yohji grins, feels his teeth, smooth against Aya’s skin so that he can’t resist nipping. “The only socks I want to get off on are yours.”

“Idiot,” Aya says mildly but he’s pulling away and Yohji grabs for him, an apology forming on his tongue, when he realises that Aya’s heading upstairs, not down.

“Come on then.” Aya tugs at Yohji’s hand. “We’ll see if you can cope with just two in the bed.”


End file.
